Between the Lines of Nursery Rhymes
by Fluttering Phalanges
Summary: In a change of events in Season Four where Pam approaches Marnie demanding answers after the witch, Antonia, cursed her maker, Eric Northman, the progeny finds herself under a hex of her own. Faced with the difficult challenges ahead, Pam's and Eric's relationship is put the test in a much greater way than it's ever before.
1. Part One

**It's been almost two years since I've written anything for this site. I've been going through a rough time but things are starting to look on the upside. I know I really need to update many of my stories, and I will, I'm just going to play around with one shots/short for a bit. To get my feet wet again, you know? Anyway, this will be a three chapter/part fanfic. I hope you guys enjoy!**

 **PART ONE**

 _Hickory, dickory, dock._  
 _The mouse ran up the clock._  
 _The clock struck one,_  
 _The mouse ran down,_  
 _Hickory, dickory, dock._

At first, it prickles. Warm and tingling in the pit of her stomach. But the heat grows, heavier and sharp, burning hotter than sliver and the sun. The hissing and whirling of Antonia's voice through Marnie's mouth cuts through the atmosphere of the woods, the witch's incantation flooding the ears of the vampire in the line of its fire. Pam wavers where she stands, feet weighed to the ground as she looks before the circle of candles. She can't move. She tries, or she thinks she did, but it is almost like she is tethered in place.

It hurts. Fuck does it hurt. She can't even focus on one single damn thing in her mind. Her knees would likely crumple underneath her if she could move. But she can't. Chanting. Shouting. An invisible hand seems to clench around her throat, choking her from any breath that may try to escape in or out. Vampires don't breathe and yet, her lungs almost threaten to burst. The fire blazes inside of her, groin aching but in a far from pleasant way.

Suddenly it stops. The wind halts, the flickering lights of the candles abruptly die, and from where they cower, Lafayette, Tara, and Jesus stare wide-eyed as Antonia releases her control over the puppet-like Marnie, the woman coughing and trembling from her sudden possession. No one says anything, all stares focusing on Pam. She feels sick. Not like one does when tasting tainted blood, but a much bitter, nauseating sensation that, when mixed with her still present, but thankfully fading pain, makes her want to vomit.

"Holy shit," Lafayette whispers, Jesus already supporting Marnie as Tara's gun remains pointed towards Pam. "Motherfucker."

She could kill them all right then and there. Tara would be the hardest but the first to go, after the gun was confiscated, it'd be easy to take down the other three. They all still were, after all, in a daze from witnessing the brutal strength of the damn witch that would give the demon from The Exorcist a run for its money. But she doesn't. The sickening feeling building up from the very depths of her core is nearly too much to bear.

So she flees.

Like a fucking coward she runs.

Retaliation be damned.

Fuck Eric.

Fuck Sookie.

Fuck the entire populace of Louisiana and then some.

 _Jack and Jill went up the hill_  
 _To fetch a pail of water._  
 _Jack fell down and broke his crown,_  
 _And Jill came tumbling after_

"You don't look too good," Ginger had commented for the umpteenth time. "I didn't think vampires got sick. Or do they?"

Pam sat slumped against the chair in Eric's office. Rusty colored crusts of old blood clung unceremoniously to her eyelashes, both entrances of her ears, and the opening of her nostrils. Her attachment to a perfect appearance had died three nights back when she vomited dark bile across the dirty seat of one of many Fangtasia's toilets. It had been a few weeks now, Pam remaining fortified in the nightclub along with her pestering servant, who at this point, was very close to becoming a meal.

"Ginger," the words sounded incredibly meek as Pam spoke. "Shut the fuck up."

The dumb blonde reach forward, her hand pressed against the female vampire's forehead. Pam wanted to snap, desiring nothing more to break every bone in Ginger's hand before ripping the entire damn thing off completely. But the only strength she could muster was weakly swatting away at the woman's touch. Between sickness and lack of sleep, she felt worse than dog shit.

"You're burning up!" Ginger exclaimed, Pam too ill to sucker punch the dumb blonde in the face when she made a dumbfounded expression. "...Or is that normal when vampires get sick? If vampires get sick! Oh god! What do we do? What do I do? If you die, Eric will _never_ have sex with me-not that that's my top priority! Oh god! I sound so inconsiderate! I'm really sorry, Pam! Really-"

"Ginger!" Pam's voice finally finding so volume. "I swear to Christ, if you don't shut the fuck up, I will tear your tongue right out and shove it up your..." Her threat began to falter as the newly and ever present nausea began to rear its ugly head. "Just...just go away and leave me the fuck alone." _Leave me here to die._

"No," Ginger insisted, much to Pam's dismay. "No, I can't-I won't do that! It's what Eric would want if he was..." She begins to sniffle and Pam's eyes miraculously find the strength to roll.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Eric is fucking dead. He's just..."

The back of her throat burns and she feels like retching all over herself. Whatever that damn, motherfucking witch had done to her was beyond Pam's guess. Rotting from the inside. Burning alive. Christ knows at this point. Where was Eric when she needed him? The image of innocent, infant-like Eric coddled to Sookie Stackhouse's chest makes her skin crawl. She swallows hard in an attempt to coax the semi-digested Tru-Blood back down her esophagus.

"Call Dr. Ludwig," she mutters, her eyes not meeting the human's. "I don't care what the fuck you tell her, just make her come."

Ginger say something that Pam doesn't grasp as she hurries off to locate the supernatural doctor. She curls up in Eric's chair, muttering at a frantic Ginger to use her goddamn minuscule brain and check the book of numbers Eric stores behind the bar counter when the overly glamoured servant can't find it. Between the cross-stitches in his chair, Eric's scent lingers strong.

She closes her eyes and inhales, subconsciously deciding that if she were to die, she'd do so right here.

 _Bye, baby Bunting,_  
 _Daddy's gone a-hunting,_  
 _Gone to get a rabbit skin_  
 _To wrap the baby Bunting in._

"You're pregnant."

Dr. Ludwig's tone is so nonchalant and matter of fact if one did not know any better, it would be safe to assume that a vampire pregnancy was a common occurrence. But it isn't and the acknowledgement of such an absurd diagnoses causes a blur of emotions of which Pam struggles to grab just one. So she blankly stares at Dr. Ludwig, assuming that she must have heard the old woman wrong.

"What. You can't be serious."

"The examination does not lie," Dr. Ludwig stated, poking around at a mess of medical equipment. "You are indeed pregnant. How, I'm not sure. Whatever the witch cursed you with is not something I can undo. Magic is much stronger than any modern day medicine. I can assure you this much, there is nothing you or I can do to stop this. I highly doubt that any form of termination of the pregnancy is possible. Each curse has protective measures to cease any attempts one might have on destroying or breaking it."

Her ears are ringing at this point, Dr. Ludwig's droning advice muffled out by the shock she is going through. Ginger tries to touch Pam's arm and she viciously slaps it away, the human yelps but there is no sound to indicate any broken bones. Her stomach twists with nausea, not only brought on by illness alone. Fear. Shock. Disgust. Her eyes fall to her stomach, a vicious look of disdain shadowing over her features.

She hates it. Despises it. Whatever is in there. Whatever monster, demon, freak of nature lurks within her like a parasite, she feels nothing but rage towards. It was growing fast, that much was made obvious by both Dr. Ludwig and Pam's person observations.

"I don't give a shit what it is," she hisses. "But _it_ sure as fuck isn't leaving me alive."

Dr. Ludwig merely stares at her, face lacking any identifiable emotion. "By my loosely based calculations, full term gestation will be in six months at most. Again, I can't give you any definite answers. I'll keep track of your progress and make adjustments to your treatment as time goes on. For now, I suggest a diet mainly human blood rather than Tru-Blood. More nutrients. Plenty of rest. Avoid rigorous physical activity. Invest in a pregnancy book, might pick up a thing or two."

Ginger stands in the corner, watching as Pam seethes with anger. Quietly she scribbles down the doctor's remarks. Her hand aches, but she writes everything down anyway. Maybe Pam would let her throw a baby shower. Her eyes flicker down to the dark bruise that has begun to form where Pam smacked her and decides that perhaps now is not the best time to ask.

 _Georgie Porgie, Pudding and pie,  
Kissed the girls and made them cry,  
When the boys came out to play,  
Georgie Porgie ran away._

The tips of her fingers touch the pale skin of her exposed stomach. Where there was once a smooth, perfectly toned abdomen now rose a small, but significant enough bump. She's tried to hide it, but no matter how she adjusts her beautiful garments rich in taste and style, the ugly roundness of her belly is noticeable. It wasn't as enormous as she had convinced herself, Ginger informed her of that without Pam ever asking for her opinion-as usual-but whenever there came a few rare seconds where she momentarily forgot about the horrendous occurrences, one glance down brought her immediately back to reality.

"Pam?"

The hesitant voice of Ginger caused Pam to turn around and see the subservient human standing nervously in the doorway. In her hand, Ginger held a small, white bottle which she grasped in such an awkward way, it was unclear if she was trying to offer it to Pam or maintain a hold of it for herself. The vampire frowned deeply, brows knit into a state of deep frustration.

"...I found them in the trash. A second time. And I know you don't like to take them but-"

"Who in their right mind fucking digs through garbage?" Pam hissed, Ginger near seconds away from having her neck snapped in two. "At this point, I fucking have no clue why I keep you around. You're just another damn thing for me to deal with!"

"They're only prenatal vitamins," Ginger said softly. "They're not bad or anything. They're good for the baby-"

"DON'T call _it_ that," the intensity of Pam's voice caused the woman to cringe. "It's nothing more than a leech and I don't give two shits about its _well being_." She paused and then added coldly. "And don't even think about taking them yourself so that I'll get the _benefits_ when drinking your blood. As I've told you for the millionth fucking time, I am and will not do anything that might be remotely good for it."

Ginger is still for a few moments, a strange look of disappointment appearing on her face. "Well, I'll just go put them in the cabinet in case you change your mind."

"I _won't_ ," Pam growled, watching Ginger hurry away.

Next time she caught sight of that bottle, it was going into the toilet. Not that that would make any such difference. Ginger had and most likely would continue to replace them. Why the damn blonde couldn't get it through her thick skull that Pam had no interest in the intruder within her, she wasn't sure. An exhale escaped from the vampire's lips and she leaned against the wall. Her nausea had begun to settle some in the past week, but of course, one pain had to be traded with another. Christ, her boobs hurt.

Three weeks now had past since the incident with Marnie and the very she-devil herself. Three weeks since she had seen or heard any news for that matter about Eric. Goddamn piece of shit maker. Thousands of years old and comes to that stupid fairy's aid at the snap of her very much breakable fingers. Pussy. Asshole. ... _Fuck_ , she missed him so much. Sometimes in her deepest moments of weakness, she'd cry. Not long and certainly not profusely, but she did. Damn hormones.

"Pam!"

Pam's attention was suddenly diverted away from her own thoughts as the all too familiar voice pierced her hearing. Self pity and loathing automatically shifted towards undiluted hatred as the vampire whipped around to see the blonde, candy-blooded waitress standing before her out of breath. It, of course, did not take but a second for the woman's eyes to fall towards the pregnant vampire's stomach, confusion beginning to surface on her face.

"Where's Eric?" Pam snapped, not letting Sookie get a word in about her condition. "Why the fuck are you here?"

"I..." She shakes her head, trying to recollect herself after a brief hypnotic state brought on by Pam's form. "I called...Marnie...Antonia...Eric, she's done something to him! It all happened so fast! I couldn't stop..."

Pam's heart fell into the pit of her stomach at Sookie's words. Rage. Confusion. Worry. All emotions blended together in a messy trail of thought. She bared her teeth, eyes blazing as she stared the fairy down.

"Where is Eric?!" She repeated, her body nearly trembling from the sheer force of her anxiety. "Fuck, you were supposed to protect him!"

"We have to go," Sookie insisted, not taking a moment to let Pam get another word in. "Before-"

Pam drowned out whatever words were to follow in Sookie's statement. She didn't need to know. She didn't want to know of the consequences of not reaching Eric. What the bitch had done to her... No. Not Eric. Not again.

She neglects to bring a jacket when they leave, risking the chance of running into those who know her seeing the change in her figure. But that is not at the forefront of her mind. She needs to get to him. Get to Eric. Nothing else matters at this point.

It's him. It has always been him.

 _Hey diddle diddle,_  
 _The cat and the fiddle,_  
 _The cow jumped over the moon._  
 _The little dog laughed,_  
 _To see such sport,_  
 _And the dish ran away with the spoon._

The "Festival of Tolerance", Pam couldn't think of a title that was possibly more annoying. But being a critic of an event was not currently on her agenda. She followed behind Sookie into the Dorchester Hotel in Shreveport, Louisiana. Whether it was the atmosphere or internal tension, the vampire felt strangely claustrophobic as they made their way through the crowd of vampires and humans alike.

"Bill is co-holding the festival," the fairy whispered as they weaved their way in and out of the crowed. "With Nan Flanagan."

"Of course he is," Pam replied dryly. "Bill Compton sucking up to queen of bitches herself. Lovely."

Sookie doesn't respond and a slight feeling of glee finds Pam at the thought that maybe the fairy took her remark personally. The amusement however is lost when Pam's eyes land on the tall, blond headed viking king standing idly by amidst the masses.

"Eric."

The name leaves her lips in a soft, surprised tone that holds almost a form of desperation. He, however, does not even seem to take notice of her. Not that he's ignoring her, it's almost as if he is in a trance, eyes fixated upon the stage where Bill and the others stand, stupid grins plastered upon their faces. She begins to push her way through the crowd, choosing to disobey Sookie's plea for her to wait. Her goal is Eric. Just a few more people. A reach of her hand... She freezes.

There, standing off to the side with an expressionless face is Marnie. The woman's mouth moves but there is far too much going on for Pam to focus right. It's then when the dry and crackled lips of the witch form into a sadistic grin that all hell breaks loose. In horror, the progeny watches as her maker snaps into a frenzy like he is a rabid dog without any remaining self control.

She doesn't even have to look to know the witch is gone. With her plan unfolding as perfectly as can be desired, it made sense for the bitch to disappear and hurry back to the _comforting_ arms of her followers. But finishing Marnie and Antonia along with her is not in her course of action as she heads towards the stage. When Nan Flanagan takes down one of the rogue vampires using a pencil in a counterattack, the progeny's eyes fall immediately towards her maker as the crazed vampire launches himself towards the King of Louisiana.

Thoughts. Plans. Actions. Sookie's scream fall upon deaf ears as Pam forces herself between Eric and Bill, ready to take on whatever makeshift stake the former confederate vampire created to defend himself as Flanagan so did. As she feels herself stiffen, trying to suppress this strange feeling of wanting to protectively wrap her arms around her stomach, everything stops.

For the first time in weeks, mere inches apart, Pam stands face to face with Eric. He stares back at her, expression melting away from rage and estranged glare to confusion and recognition. Relief and a wide range of other emotions fill the female vampire as her maker, for the first time in weeks, looks at her with acknowledgement. She's shaking and maybe even smiling, not that it even damn matters.

"Pam?"

She opens her mouth, unsure if something playfully snide or sickeningly sincere would answer him. But nothing escapes past her lips except a raspy whispering gasp. She wavers, suddenly feeling strangely both heavy and weightless. She doesn't feel Eric's grip on her as her knees collapse, nor the desperation in his voice as her consciousness slips away.

Yet none of that matters now.

Eric's okay. He's safe.

And she greets the darkness with open arms, willingly falling away from reality...

 **To Be Continued in Part Two... I am so sorry, but then not at the same time, but I love me some cliff hangers! Two more parts to this small fic of mine! I hope you enjoyed part one! Please consider leaving me a review! It honestly really means a lot and brings on the motivation! Anyway, I'm taking a winter break class so I'm hoping to have part two up in a few days. See you then! Oh! Also, any questions you have WILL be answered. I promise, just wait and read! -Jen**


	2. Part Two

**First, SUPER sorry this update is extremely overdue to put it mildly. Between school and work, it's been hectic. SO this story will be in more parts than I mentioned because I want to post something. So here's what I've had written thus far. It's at least something and I promise to keep working on this because I don't want to give up and not finish. So again, SO SORRY and I AM NOT giving up on this!**

 **PART TWO**

 _Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,_

 _and doesn't know where to find them;_

 _leave them alone, And they'll come home,_

 _wagging their tails behind them._

Muffled whispers. From where her consciousness sits on the bridge of a comatose state, gentle sound begins to guide Pam back reality. It's immature really, or so her semi-cognizant mind says, but waking up isn't the most welcoming idea. Exhaustion still weighs heavy on every limb of her being, muscles numb past the point of aching. She just wants to sleep. Christ, the aspect of going into hibernation was more appealing than a room filled with virgins and their untainted blood. But fate has other plans in mind and, now with more force, an unseen rope tugs her towards the land of the living.

"Pam?"

It's Eric's voice, his tone low and laced with concern. It would be almost lulling if another, much sharper and less considerate voice, didn't cut through the air. Too weary to express great irritation, Pam found herself with no choice but to force her lids open. Fuzzy at first, the height comparison between the two figures that hovered over her might have been almost comical if the circumstances were different. But they weren't, as much as she may have wished they'd been. So she inhales, finding the strange need to, and prepares herself for the worst.

"I warned you not to overexert yourself," Dr. Ludwig chides, lips pressed into a thin frown. "But I should've expected disobedience as much."

Pam could feel Eric's stare fixated on her body. If looks could burn, the concentration her maker had focused on her form would have caused her to ignite in flame faster than a vampire stepping out into the sunlight. But she decides to ignore this, avoiding any contact with the viking who clearly desired nothing more than to be assured of his progeny's well-being.

For some reason a small part of her blames Eric for all of this. Holds him accountable for how she ended up in this situation. That if it hadn't been for his infatuation for Sookie Stackhouse, neither of them would've been in this conundrum. But the greater half of her realizes this is not his fault. That Eric would rather meet the true death than to cause any harm to her. And it's that knowledge that makes her feel guilty about grasping onto this undeserved grudge.

"How is this possible?" Eric inquires, his attention now turned to the supernatural doctor. "How is Pamela..." His voice trails off, but Pam knows this missing word he fails to speak. Pregnant. "Why did this happen?"

"Go ask the witch that cursed her," Dr. Ludwig states, her tone nonchalant as she prods at Pam's abdomen with a strange instrument that, at least in Pam's eyes, looks like a cheap dildo. "I wasn't there."

There's a pause as the doctor presses the object almost uncomfortably hard against the progeny's stomach. Silence. Then, balanced between fear and awe, a whooshing sound fills the air. Her eyes go wide and Pam doesn't even have to look over to Eric to know his face has twisted into a similar look of shock. Dr. Ludwig appears to be the only one who is not alarmed by this-as she always seems to be with any given situation-and continues to hold and drag the device without even looking up once.

"It has a heartbeat," she concludes, moving the prob once more before letting it rest momentarily by the vampire's navel. "A strong one."

"...It's alive?" Pam almost hisses, the words tasting sour on her tongue. "It has a heart?"

"Well it's certainly _not_ dead," Dr. Ludwig snips, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, from what I can gauge with little knowledge, or lack thereof, about this phenomena, nothing seems amiss."

"Well thank fucking Christ," Pam growls. "I was _so_ worried something might be wrong."

"Sarcasm won't make things disappear," Dr. Ludwig breathes, placing the device back into her overly packed, black bag. "If there aren't any questions-"

"Yes," Eric's voice sounds from its previous silence. "I have a few."

Pam tunes them out as they talk, her anger bubbling ever frothier every time she catches Eric throwing a glance in her direction. Fuck him. Fuck Sookie. At this point she is too full of self loathing to yank away the scapegoat that was her maker, Eric Northman, and his abandonment of her.

 _Stupid, Eric._

 _Stupid, fucking, Eric_

 _Stupid, fucking, shitfaced, asshole, Eric._

 _Eric._

 _My Eric._

 _Not his fault._

 _Not his fault._

 _Jack Sprat could eat no fat._

 _His wife could eat no lean._

 _And so between them both, you see,_

 _They licked the platter clean._

"Pamela."

Eric watched with dismay as his progeny stares with false focus on a packet of stock information on Fangtasia. It's been a week now since his memory has been regained and of those seven days that had since passed, Pam had spoken maybe one or two sentences to him. He knew the whole ordeal between him and Sookie and what transpired during his "episode" was one of the more major culprits in his progeny's anger. And he couldn't blame her. Why would he? It'd be lying to state that he'd feel indifferent if the roles were reversed. Still, her insistent pouting was beginning to wear down on his psyche.

"You can't ignore me forever," he places a warm bottle of Tru Blood in front of her. Two days ago, he switched the contents of a bottle for real blood. Of course, as expected, Pam picked up before even taking her first sip that it wasn't the synthetic drink. Since, as if to get to him, she continuously refused anything he tried to give her, legitimate liquid or not. "And you keep dumping out every bottle I give you. It's hurting you and more importantly, it's hurting my wallet."

The latter was meant to be a joke, Pam didn't even offer the softest chuckle. He momentarily closed his eyes, counting backwards from ten in his head. He would remain calm. He would not lash out. Exhaling, he let his eyes open, expression relaxed.

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "About what happened. I never meant to-"

"I thought you were dead." Pam's voice interrupts him, Eric immediately falling silent. For the first time in days, she was actually addressing him. "Or that'd I lost you. I'm not sure which outcome is worse. Both fucking suck."

"I know," he replies, not sure how to respond. "I'm really sorry, Pamela. You know I would never want to hurt you. Ever."

"Well, you did," but her voice holds no malice, just exhaustion. "But I'm just as at fault."

Eric's brow knits into an expression of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I could've probably thought of a better plan to rescue you," she breathes. "Or at least found another way to pull you from the clutches of Sookie fucking Stackhouse."

The viking king's lips curl into a small smirk as his gaze remained on his progeny. "You never cease to amaze me," he pauses. "One couldn't ask for a nobler progeny."

"Are you mocking me?" Pam's tone edges on displeasure.

"No," Eric replies, sobering up. "I mean it. Every word. I could not be any luckier."

Pam stares him down carefully, her eyes looking for any sort of glimmer that may prove his words to be otherwise. But there is no. His face is absolutely still, words remaining true to his lips. Slowly she exhales, Eric's arms around her before she can even register the hug. But she doesn't move. She doesn't even flinch. Giving in, her forehead presses against his shoulder, her frame sinking against his.

"We'll get through this," he promises, voice softer than Pam is used to. "I promise."

But she doesn't reply, merely remaining in his hold. She wants to respond, but nothing escapes. Fear. Anger. Resentment. Self loathing. Muddling in her mind, she tries to focus on this moment and this alone. It is, after all, surely the only time in peace they will exist in as the calm before the storm approaches.


End file.
